


Darcy Lewis: God of Thunder

by Miss_sunfire



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Darcy Lewis, BDSM, Casual Sex, Crossdressing Kink, Darcy Has Powers, Darcy Lewis is the fandom bicycle and I love it, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Inhuman Darcy Lewis, Lesbian Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-04 01:03:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_sunfire/pseuds/Miss_sunfire
Summary: At 16 Darcy doesn’t have very many memories of her first adoptive family. She was too young, the car crash too traumatic. She can vaguely recall something about blue mist and faces carved in rock, but nothing makes sense. The details in the police report are all wrong, and nobody seems to care. Her girlfriend has similar questions. Only being left at the orphanage with a single redacted SHIELD report. Plus, shit just keeps seeming to explode in loud bangs and sparks around her. That shit's weird and needs to be explained.The pair decides they want answers. Only...the answers are not exactly what either of them expected or wanted.





	1. The Rainy Streets of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a shiny object. I wanted it. So I wrote a thing because I thought it was fun. There's a longer story here, but you know. Distracted squirrel. We'll see where it leads

*******************************  
_Hell’s Kitchen, New York_

It’s raining. A heavy, dark shower, sheets of rain hiding shadowed figures in the streets. The wind howls a distant mournful song. Thunder booms, strength and determination reverberating through the air. It’s an altogether awful night. No sane person would call it good weather, or think of going out in it if they could help it.

Daria on the other hand is sat in her perch on the roof of Saint Agnes’s orphanage, brimming with emotion, but very glad for the storm. It’s turbulent twisting echoing and validating her churned up mental state. For some reason, she never really seems to get drenched, even as she just hides downwind of a gargoyle. She would know too. The 16 year old makes a point of hanging out and watching the clouds pass whenever it’s stormy.

It’s...soothing. As weird as that might sound, there’s just something comforting about the sheer power and majesty of nature. How utterly small her place in the world is. The storms remind her she’s part of something bigger, part of a cycle. Part of growing plants and trees. Part of ozone and forest fires fertilizing the ground with charcoal, renewing the earth.

They mark the passing seasons. Gentle spring rainshower’s provide nutrients to plants, filling the world with color and life. Summer downpours, rare as they may be, sustain and nurture that life into food. Chill fall fog heralds the approach of winter. Signalling the living things to be thankful for the blessings of summer and take stock. Howling winter storms force life to slow down. To rest and cuddle those you care close under the covers.

“Hey Dar! Is my adorable little rain woman ready to come inside and blow this popsicle stand yet?” Came an amused shouting voice over Daria’s shoulder. She turns, faintly seeing a tall brunette woman waving at her from the exit onto the roof.

Daria grins, hopping away and skipping through the storms thrashing rain. She arrives at the roof exit, barely wet at all and closes the door. Turning to the woman, she presses a quick, chaste kiss to her lips.

“Hey Mary, I’ve been ready for hours, I was just waiting for you lover girl!” Daria says with a beaming grin. The woman’s face scrunches up in disgust. Her smooth tan skin wrinkles momentarily at her eyebrow. She’s of mixed asian heritage, with a slender figure, lovely brown eyes and long flowing black hair.

“Ugh, Dar, c’mon. You know I hate it when people call me that.” The woman says with a pout.

Daria snorts with amusement. “Well then, somebody has to make up her goddamn mind. Figure out what spiffy new name and identity she wants to go by.” Daria responds with a roll of her eyes and a poke of her finger into the other woman’s chest.

“Skye. My name will be-my name is Skye.” The taller teenager says, a sombre note in her voice. Skye pulls Daria close, wrapping her thin arms around the curvier woman’s shoulders. Neither have much meat on their bones (the orphanage never really had enough money to feed all the girls). However, Daria got hit harder with the puberty stick and is a bit curvier. Skye presses a soft kiss into Daria’s long golden hair before pausing to stare into the blonde’s arresting pale blue eyes.

“Are...Are we really gonna do this sweetheart? I just...I’m…” Skye asks, hesitating and falling silent.

“Scared?” Daria supplies, a look of understanding and sympathy on her face. Skye nods back empathically.

“Just, what if something happens? We’ll be so far apart from each other. I know you know how to take care of yourself, but just...the people you’re going to talk to aren’t nice. You could get hurt so easily. Do you really have to go?” Skye responds, a vulnerable quiver to her voice.

Daria coos softly, hugging the brunette tightly, rocking them to the rumble of the storm above them. “Skye, love, it’ll be okay. We have to do this. You and I both know that the car crash that killed my parents was hinky. Something is just plain weird and wrong about it and we need to find out what. Same with whatever accident got you dropped off here. Shady agencies of jack booted thugs don’t leave heavily redacted files with just any orphan. Nobody is even searching for answers or asking questions. We have to do this.” Daria argues, trying to be reassuring.

“I know I know. Just, it’s dangerous. You’ll be careful right? I can’t lose you, you’re all I have left.” The brunette begged, her eyes misting just slightly.

Daria shoots her a beaming grin. “Sure lovergirl. Careful is my middle name. Besides, we planned it all out together. I’ll try to get in tight with some of the shady groups in the city. See what I can find. You’ll try and see what you can find with your hacker buddies down south. New names, scrubbed pasts and identities. Nobody can trace anything back to us. Heck, I’ll even dye my hair, maybe wear thick glasses or something if I need to get out.” The blonde exclaims.

Skye bites her lip and nods, looking distinctly unconvinced. Still though, she agrees in the end and Daria nuzzles her girlfriend affectionately.

“Now then. How about we condemn ourselves to hell in the broom closet one last time before we leave. For old times sake?” The blonde says with a cheshire grin. Skye giggles with an embarrassed blush, but a naughty smirk betrays her.

“Oooh, this time, let's be as loud as the hell we want! It’s not like we’re ever gonna actually see any of the sisters again. I wanna see if you can actually make me scream.” She jokes. Only, Daria doesn’t take it as a joke. The blonde practically leers, eyes darting over the lithe form of her girlfriend. She lets a thundering rumble start at the back of her throat that she knows makes Skye’s knees weak.

“Challenge accepted.”

***********************************  
_2 years later, Daria is 18._

It's raining. A tumultuous downpour of slashing rain and howling winds. Thunder cracks, loud and angry. There is nothing pleasant about this storm. Just tumultuous hate and mournful howling. Windows break, gutters clog and streets flood.

Daria sits by an open window, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the spray. An increasingly soggy folder of paper clutched to her chest. The rain scours it, makes the ink run wet down her body. It erases those precious, useless, disappointing words. Those words paid for in blood and sweat and tears. Mostly blood.

Thunder booms once more. Daria grins sadly. She'd always found thunder soothing. The booming volume asserting its will on the world more than she ever could. The power and strength of it makes her heart beat faster. Energy and potential and ozone humming in her skin, feeling like fire just ready to burst loose. She loves that feeling, that adrenaline laced moment of utter destruction.

Perhaps that's why she'd been able to ingratiate herself so thoroughly with the mob. Daria had always liked tinkering. Throwing iron and chemicals together to make something new, something powerful. Something to cause havoc and get her the attention she always wanted. The sisters at Saint Agnes had always hated it. Hated the midnight homemade fireworks. Hated the (mostly) harmless cherry bombs scaring the other kids, hated the homemade bottle rockets soaring into the sky. Well, and they frankly hated her. All snark and irreverent disrespect and big ideas too far in the clouds to be practical. The feeling was mutual.

Really, it's just some basic engineering and chemistry to make a bang. Two subjects she's always found fun. Maybe adding a few of her own...unique twists to the things she creates as well.

Ivan on the other hand, loves it. For most of two years Daria had made a name for herself as a bit of a mad tinkerer. One with the know how and lack of scruples to supply...less than savoury organizations. One who wanted not guns or money or drugs, but information. One whose bombs were untraceable and left no evidence behind. One with no record to go looking for and little risk of being backstabbed. The russian gangster had taken one look at Daria’s toys and practically started salivating. He’d swept Daria off her feet immediately and shunted her off to a private workshop. Promising to find her the information she wanted if she only kept on building, kept on tinkering. Kept on providing the fuel for the raging war between the Russians and Irish in the kitchen.

She’d even found it kinda fun at first. It was a challenge, industrializing. Scaling up. Meeting the ever increasing demand in meagre, secretive conditions with whatever she had available. Solving problems with earlier designs. Improving, innovating as she taught herself as she went. She justified it to herself. The mobs were always going to fight. People fight with fists if nothing else is available. All she was doing was giving them the gun. It wasn’t her fault they pulled the trigger.

But then she’d actually taken the time to step out of her workshop. To see the broken streets and blown out storefronts from her toys. To...see the kids orphaned when idiots didn’t follow her instructions. When they placed the bombs in ways that weren’t intended, and the blast went further than designed. When innocent passersby got caught up in the explosions. To see the blood and tears staining her hands. Ice filled her, rage and guilt burned her up inside, but still she kept on. Forcing herself to believe that she still needed to know. That the answers were still important enough. That all the blood and death wasn’t for nought.

Well, she sure as shit got that information, and it wasn't worth a single damn drop of that blood. Sure, there was something hinky going on with the car crash that killed her parents. The truck that they crashed into had been carrying some sort of shady unknown blue crystal. Probably radioactive or something. Completely off the books with no safe handling procedures.

The company had expertly covered it up. Ivan having only found the file from a friend in the company’s loading docks. His friend had been one of the first responders, had seen the scene. The crystal in the truck shattering had caused the rest of her adoptive family to turn to stone. Her Mom had protected her, throwing toddler Daria under her body. She’d been summarily dismissed and dropped at Saint Agnes. A niggling memory of pain, blue mist and a scary cocoon flashes behind her eyeballs, but it’s faint. Old. She’s not even sure if just a hallucination or not.

The sad part is Daria can’t even really be angry at the company. Sure, it’s shady as hell, and whatever they were transporting is dangerous...but it’s not like that’s a new thing. Daria is intimately familiar with any number of unstable chemicals that could have been on that truck. Any of which would have killed her parents just as surely. Many which are perfectly legal and are used widely in industry. Hell, fucking fertilizer becomes explosive if it’s stored improperly.

There’s no grand conspiracy. No evil genius twirling a mustache. Just a distracted truck driver in a rainstorm, improperly stored chemicals and an industrial accident. Just a global company run by capitalist lizard people covering their asses. Keeping their proprietary technology away from bad press. Happens all the time. The answers are hollow, unsatisfying. She feels empty.

Daria looks at her phone. Wanting desperately to call Skype. To beg forgiveness, to beg for comfort, to beg for closeness... something holds her back though. They've grown...more distant with time. They’ve both become more and more absorbed in their work. Neither feeling comfortable enough to talk about such things over the phone. What with illegal records access and working with organized crime. They haven’t seen each other for months. When they do they’re both surly. Daria unwilling to really talk about her life and Skye indignant over being shut out. They only send each other sporadic platitudes like “Hey, how’s it going?” or “Find anything yet?” or “When will you be in town?”

And whatever Skye is doing, whatever she has done...can’t be nearly as bad as Daria. It churns her up inside to think of what the woman would think of the mess Daria had made of the city. Skye had always had a stronger moral compass than Daria. Sure, Skye’s equally as impulsive, but she has less of a temper, and is less willing to get her hands dirty. Once she has decided something as wrong, nothing and no one can get her to change her mind...or stop her doing something about it. The blonde can only imagine she’d be disgusted. That Daria would be shunned...and that she would deserve every bit of it.

Daria makes the first of two decisions. They had something special. Young, innocent love. She doesn’t want her memories of Skye tainted, she can move on. Heck, long distance is always hard. High school sweethearts are practically expected to break up by the end of first year. It’s just like going away to college. No blowup, just… losing track. Moving on, living separate lives.

They text for awhile as the rain beats down. Her saying that they’ve been drifting for awhile and maybe it’s time to see other people. Skye mentions she’d already figured that out and is already dating someone else. His name’s Miles. The blonde smiles sadly, a sad wail of wind whipping around the building. She tells Skye she’s happy for her. She wishes her happiness and that they can still be friends. They agree to not lose touch, but Daria thinks it’s just a matter of time. Her tears, and the storm outside get harder.

Ivan opens the door behind her and clears his throat. The rotund, balding gangster looks drunk and angry. His face flushed and his lungs pumping like bellows.

“Daria. You must get working. The Irish, they are coming. We’ve lost too many men. We need your toys ready or we will fall. If they find you, you will die like a dog with us.” He growls angrily, looming over her imposingly.

Daria looks up at him and sighs. “Sure Ivan, let's go down to the workshop and talk about what you need.” The blond says with a resigned note of defeat in her voice.

Ivan walks with her to her workshop on the main floor. What remains of the gang’s leadership cluster around her, shouting a dozen requests at once. Ivan shouts them down, enforces order. The pudgy, mean man turns to her.

“Now Daria. I’m tell you once what we need. Once only. We’re need the biggest bomb you can make. The Irish are raiding our warehouse on the docks tomorrow. All of the major players will be there. You bring down the building and you win the war. You must do this.” The gangster orders, passion in his voice.

Daria pales, a solid weight of fear settling in her gut. “Isn’t that the one right next to the textile plant? Plus the buildings are super clustered there. If we wanted to be sure we got everyone we’d need something...it would take out most of that block. The fire would spread out of control, burn down dozens of buildings. Kill who knows how many people.” She explains, dawning horror in her voice.

Ivan smirks, sharklike, sharp and vicious. He laughs. He fucking laughs at the thought of killing so many, burning down so many other people’s livelihoods. “Sacrifices must be made for mother russia kotenok (kitten). You know this.” He growls out.

A buzzing starts under her skin. Anger, hot and righteous pulses through her veins. The smell of ozone starts wafting through the room. Her fists shake as she clenches them repeatedly, sucking thick gasps of air in. She utters a single word, resounding and furious, shooting a dark look at the gangster.

“No.”

Ivan laughs more at that. The vodka on his breath making him bold, causing him to ignore and underestimate her. “Then my dear kotenok, we will have to force you. Sacrifices must be made, as I said.” He says with a smirk as he waves a pair of his lieutenants forward.

Something snaps in Daria. She gets mad. Mad at this shitty world full of secrets. Mad at the injustice of fate taking her parents. Mad at how stupid and childish she’d been. Too wrapped up in her own ego and needs to care about anybody else. Mad at how pigheaded men have taken advantage of her naivety to kill each other. Mad, most of all at herself. For being weak. For being stupid.

...and it’s never a good idea for Daria to get mad. Things tend to blow up on their own when she gets mad. The blonde has always had to be very careful with her temper, especially since she left the orphanage. Daria can’t draw attention to herself, and if she loses herself to rage that’s impossible.

...but she just cannot goddamn stand one more goddamn minute of listening to these assholes. Of being strung along by their selfish demands. Getting stupid, pointless answers that make her feel hollow. She thinks back to the flash of lighting. The spark that starts the forest fire, burns the overgrowth to the ground. So something new can grow up in the fertile ash.

Daria makes her other decision. To burn it all down. To throw out this shitty fucking life and try again. To do it better. To do it right. To try and make the world better rather than looking out for herself. To become someone else, someone better. Daria is dead. Officially. After tonight.

The rage, heat and energy pool in her stomach, churning with nerves and adrenaline as the gangsters approach her. There’s a passing second where she considers her situation, idly and disconnected from her body. This particular hideout is in an abandoned warehouse, away from any civilization. There shouldn’t be anybody but gangsters around anywhere. Little chance for unnecessary casualties.

As the goons put hands on her and start to drag her she yells. A scream of rage and defiance echoed by the booming thunder of the storm above. The building shakes as gangsters look around concerned. Blue lights spark around her eyes and body, growing hotter, brighter. Her skin feels practically aflame. As the energy reaches a crescendo the slight woman brings her hand together, clapping as hard as she can.

The world around her explodes with the impossibly loud sound of a thunderclap. A resounding wave of pressure and energy expanding in all directions. As it barrels into the gangsters their eardrums explode and they are thrown backwards like ragdolls. Their brains bounce around in their skulls and organs liquify, killing them instantly. Even after, energy crackles and their skin starts to burn and crack with a sickening scent. Ammunition all around her explodes, sending shrapnel everywhere. Grenades and her smaller leftover toys explode as the wave hits them. Walls within the building collapse in puffs of dust and flame. The windows of the building burst outward in a gout of black smoke.

As the pressure wave subsides Daria sees the concrete and metal is scorched and burning all around her. The metal still arching with sparks of electricity. The building groans, it’s walls made unstable in the blast. Supplies, drugs and arms are burning everywhere, the building will collapse in minutes at best. Yet here she stands, untouched by it all in the eye of the storm. A dark smirk distorts her face. In common language thunder is often synonymous with lightning strikes. To bolts of electricity. When actually it’s definition is that it’s the sound, the pressure wave that’s emitted by a lightning bolt. Not the electricity itself. In this moment, she’s thunder. Loud, glorious thunder making the mountains tremble and quake. Making kings quake in their beds.

The moment doesn’t last long however. So, Daria bolts, running from the warehouse, and running like a madwoman through the city. She stops only to pick a bug out bag of supplies she’d stored in a secure locker in the city. Daria dyes her hair brown in the washroom of a cafe and slips on a set of thick cosmetic glasses. She gets an overnight bus ticket out of the city, she didn’t even care where. When she gets off she finds a shitty youth hostel to stay at that doesn’t ask too many questions. She buys a new laptop and starts hacking. Using the skills she developed with Skye to make a new identity for herself.

A month later the explosion at the warehouse is ruled as an unfortunate accident. So common in homemade mob explosives. So easy for something to go wrong and for the consequences to be disastrous. Especially with how much the Russian’s had stepped up arms production in recent months. There were no survivors. The Irish roll in and take control of the kitchen for awhile, before another war starts with the Italians. Life goes on, the system continues to turn the grinder.

Several months later one Darcy Lewis applies and is accepted the political science program at Culver University. The brunette looks bright eyed and innocent, even a little naive. Everyone who meets her knows she’s honestly hoping to make a difference. To fight for and improve people’s lives. She works long hours at a series of coffee shops to make ends meet. Though she stubbornly refuses to date around, she parties hard. She gets involved in all sorts of student advocacy groups, particularly for queer and questioning students, or students from disadvantaged backgrounds. Darcy’s careful never to stand out too much. She refuses to really take the spotlight, but she’s always there behind the scenes. Organizing, helping out, volunteering, strategizing. Helping the other kids make history.

If her friends notice she’s a little jumpy, that she’s always looking over her shoulder they don’t say anything. If they notice it always seems to be raining when Darcy is in a bad mood, they don’t say anything. It’s not as if she really has any truly close friends. She’s a normal, outgoing, friendly but not familiar college student.

...And like so many other humanities students, Darcy swears off science and chemistry until it bites her on the ass as she’s finishing her second to last year.


	2. Introductory Astrophysics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy starts her work with Jane and catches a new obsession.
> 
> Then she meets a blond sandy haired stranger at the local pub. And are those suited jack booted thugs following her around?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a note: Yes in this Darcy is a lesbian. And yes I totally realize the sex that's totally going to happen with Clint next chapter kinda plays into the very problematic trope of one perfect dick for every lesbian. That's not what I'm going for. More that Darcy finds kinks aligning more important than assigned genders and to her attraction is more complicated than just a binary. This more or less mirrors my own experiences as a dyke that occasionally sexes men but still identifies as a dyke since it describes most of my behavior so well. If you want to be pedantic you could use the kinsey scale, but you know that's too much work.
> 
> So: PSA to any guys in the audience. Yes, somebody being a lesbian doesn't mean it's a sure thing that they might never want to sex a guy. Don't be an asshole though, take them at their word that they aren't interested in guys. They have to be the ones to initiate if they are lesbian identified.

*******************************  
New Mexico, 2011, Darcy is 22

Darcy did not have...the most auspicious of starts to her internship with one Dr. Jane Foster. Oh sure, the woman was polite and very excited to meet her new intern. Frankly her initial enthusiasm was a little daunting. It was undercut somewhat by the plain desperation in the woman’s voice as she explained how everybody thought she was a crackpot. How nobody wanted to work with her and she was so lucky to have her since she got no other applicants. 

...It didn’t really help Darcy’s mood any to watch Jane’s initial good mood fade on the drive back to her lab. When the astrophysicists eyes dimmed as her excited explanations of her work kept going straight over Darcy’s head. It’s not like she was unintelligent or anything...she was just a bit out of her field. 

Darcy had always favored math and engineering before University. Building actual real tangible things she could see. She also loved making the numbers dance to figure out the breaking points of her ideas. The intern is pretty sure she’d actually understand most of what Jane is spouting if the woman would just stop talking in science! Slang that’s basically greek to her. Maybe. Probably not. It’s not as if Darcy ever went to a real school. Still, it’d be easier if the PhD could maybe write out some equations and add a few figures. Alas, there are no whiteboards in the vehicle 

“So, ultimately what we’re trying to do is observe some of the abnormal readings in the area in order to work towards opening a traversable wormhole. We’re investigating a bunch of different types such as string theory wormholes or modified Einstein-rosen bridges. Right now we’re just building our database. That’s going to involve measuring infrared, ultraviolet and gamm-” Jane tittered excitedly. 

“Uuuh, gonna have stop you there boss lady. What’s a wormhole again? Or Einstein-whatsit bridges? Like is it different than a black hole or something? I mean, I’ve heard of them in sci-fi movies and shit, but that can’t be accurate.”

Jane looks aghast, her upper lip curling a bit with a hint of distaste. She quickly recovers. “Right, right, you’re a poli sci major aren’t you? Still, I’m surprised you don’t know what a wormhole is. Shouldn’t they have covered that in basic high school science?” The woman asks, a little concerned. 

Darcy blushes a bit, feeling intimidated. “Uhhh, I went to an inner city high school mostly. Teachers didn’t really give a damn, so I had to teach myself. Plus I mean, Poli Sci major. I haven’t really taken much astrophysics.” Darcy says nervously, looking sideways at the older woman. 

Jane sighs a little, pinching her brow as they pull into her lab. The silence turns awkward. Darcy looks up and takes in the converted car dealership, smiling at the piles of homemade equipment and pages of notes tacked to the walls.

Jane clears her throat, grabbing her attention again. “So, uh, I’ve got my place a few blocks away. You’re welcome to set yourself up in the bedroom out back. Normally I use it to crash if I’m up to late, but you know…” The scientist awkwardly trailed off, shuffling her feet. The silence hung for a few moments, neither woman exactly sure how to move forwards. 

“Look, uh, I feel like we may have gotten off a bit on the wrong foot. I’m sure we can make this work. Most of the job is just transcribing my data and notes. Making sure it gets put on the private server I use to talk with my colleague Erik. Keep the coffee flowing, make some snacks occasionally, that sort of thing. I always hated it when people treated me as incapable just because I’m a woman doing this job. So, I won’t assume how you’ll do and we can just see how it’ll go.” Jane says, looking a bit sheepish. 

Dacy lets a broad grin spread her face. “Sounds good boss lady. I’m happy to be your coffee gopher.” She quips. 

“Oh, you’d better be. I’ve got stacks and stacks of built up notes for you to transcribe and typeset. It’s gonna take you weeeeeeks. You’re gonna hate it by the end.” The scientist said with a mischievous smirk. 

Darcy groaned painfully, but it was undercut by the wide grin on her face. She could already tell she was probably going to end up really enjoying the time she was going to spend with Jane. 

*********************************************  
Darcy groaned, pillowing her head in her hands. She softly let her head smack against the desk and array of papers in front of her a few times. It had been two months since she’d started her internship with one Dr. Foster. In that time she’d basically been glued to her desk, constantly writing and transcribing. Jane hadn’t been joking when she’d said she had a lot of built up work. If anything, she’d been underestimating. 

Slowly, Darcy would whisk papers of rough drawn equations, theories and related scraps of work off the meter tall pile of rough work in the lab. Some of it clearly even dating back to the start of Jane’s PhD years ago. All of it was unorganized, even by date. The astrophysicist frequently leafed through the pages to reference something she’d written before, only to throw it haphazardly on top. Darcy thought it was just to annoy her. Well, probably because Jane’s a bit spacey and over focused, but you know, it felt like it. 

Organizing and labelling it became one of Darcy’s primary responsibilities. Which you know, she was good at, but it was a pain. Especially because she had to look up and learn most of the terms and keywords as she went so she’d be able to make informed decisions. Not that she understood how any of the terms went together at all. There was so much terminology and lingo she practically wanted to scream. She’d start researching a concept, only to find that in order to understand it at all she had to hop into twelve separate levels of nested theories. All of which were necessary to understand what the original term meant and where the notes should go. 

Plus, for every dent she’d put in the prodigious pile, Jane added another few documents of new notes. Or data print outs that for some reason weren’t automatically saved to her private server when the silly woman printed them out. Or a series of equations that made little sense and had no context to explain them. Darcy would have to stare at them for hours to try and make an educated guess of how they should be labelled. It was fucking maddening. 

It was a good thing Jane didn’t seem to realize the increasingly inclement weather as Darcy’s mood shifted. Or that Darcy had rewritten her filtering algorithms to tag the spikes in her readings as noise when Darcy got pissed at a particularly obtuse page. Plus, she totally managed to fix all the machines that exploded, and they worked better than new once she redid their wiring and firmware. 

It was also another good thing that Darcy had honestly never had more fun in her goddamn life. Or learned so much so quickly. Jane was a-fucking-mazing. Sure she disappeared into her science! Benders for day’s at a time. But when she was lucid again she was always willing and patient to explain so much of the basic science that Darcy had missed. She never condescended to the intern, preferring to build her up and give her the tools to figure out the answers for herself. Honestly Jane would have made a lovely teacher if she had wanted to do that sort of academia.

The process wasn’t helped much be the fact that so many of the rough equations and proofs were just...wrong. Like, Darcy totally realised that she could never create something even half as beautiful as the elegant beauties Jane slid over to her every day. She’d sooner shoot herself than tell the brilliant, amazingly pretty woman (though Darcy is typically not one for straight chicks, and Jane is PAINFULLY straight) that she’s wrong. Just like all the other male scientists who thought she was a crackpot (they commiserated on the rooftop over tequila about the horribleness of men in science).

...But, the scientist just wasn’t careful enough. A lot of it was simple typo’s and easy arithmetic mistakes in long series of matrix operations. Those were easy fixes. Other times though, Jane would start off in the right direction for a proof, but seem to second guess herself. Her handwriting would get nervous and she’d try a different approach and it just didn’t work at all. Those drove Darcy to distraction. The numbers, operations and equations were right there, behind her eyeballs. How could someone as amazing as Jane not see them? Not believe in herself enough to follow her proofs through?

So Darcy made it her personal mission to fix it (well, I mean, that’s the altruistic reason, really the proofs were just fucking cool and she wanted to fix it cause it’s fun). Which of course, when you spend three hours trying to understand and fix complex proofs with only a basic grasp of what any of the terms mean...it takes a bit longer to actually transcribe the thing. 

Darcy finishes a document and sends it off to their server before grabbing the next off the ever present pile. Her eyes boggle, barely glancing over the title (something related to modified string thingamawhatsists, Darcy has no idea what any of the subtitles mean) before her eyes lock on the massive set of equations and matrices. Darcy practically salivates at what she’s seeing.

“Who needs this many fucking dimensions. Holy shitballs.” She huffs under her breath, trying to slowly process the impossibly complicated, yet elegant and holy shit cool interlocking equations. The intern sees a rough note from Jane up top saying she thinks she has an idea to reduce the math down to our universe’s normal number of dimensions. It’s paired with another note, written in a frustrated scrawl saying she gives up, the math can’t be reduced. String theory is dead. 

Darcy shrugs, disappointed that Jane couldn’t ultimately figure out whatever that sexiness of math was, but determined to do her part. It’s not like somebody who barely passed high school and hasn’t taken a science course in more than half a decade will really be able to do anything if someone as smart as Jane couldn’t hack it. 

Quickly she copies down her proofs, plopping them into a PDF to put on the server. As she presses copy the intern notices an increasing feeling in the back of her head. A low insistent buzz that there’s something she’s missing. That there’s something just outside of reach, just on the edge of awareness. By the time she turns in for the day (Jane still firmly ensconced on a science bender in the lab) it’s practically driving her crazy. Like an earworm that just won’t go away. 

So, she pulls out her notebook and pulls the string thingamawhatsists equations up on her laptop. She pulls the covers of the bed up over her knees and sets to work.

********************************  
Darcy snaps a shot of tequila back before clunking it on the bar at the only watering hole in Puente Antiguo. The drink buzzes through her, calming her overwrought nerves. Thunder booms outside as the wind whips up, rattling the windows ominously. 

God, she thinks, could her week get any shittier? It’s been a month since she started working on the string thingamawhatsits equations. The intern had finally been forced to throw in the towel on what had rapidly become her baby. Oh sure, she thinks she might have made some progress, but she had had to make a few extra assumptions that she had no idea would hold up. Even then, the math only mostly sorta worked. To a certain precision anyway. 

Darcy could just cry. The equations were just so pretty, and over complicated and fascinating like an expensive pocket watch and and and….and it’s just, so, so sad they don’t work properly. It’s like watching old yeller all over again. Darcy waved the barkeep over and knocked back another shot of tequila. She grinned as he bounced over in seconds, appreciating the attentiveness. 

That would be bad enough to make the weather a little wet. But no, Darcy had to be a big stupid idiot face and fall asleep on top of her laptop afterwards. Not only had she gotten a major case of keyboard face, but her work was accidentally copied over to the server. One of Jane’s colleagues (Erik, according to the chat ID) had already downloaded it and was coming down to “speak to Jane” about her new work tomorrow. 

Fuck, she was so fucked. She was totally gonna get fired for wasting so much time on personal projects and not getting anything actually done. God, how could she be such an idiot? When Jane’s been so nice and amazing to her this whole fucking time. She ordered a third shot, slamming that back too, starting to feel a pleasant buzz. 

Those two things were bad enough, but Darcy’s nerves were also totally fucking fried. For some reason the suits had swept into the town a week and a half ago. Everywhere she went there were jack booted thugs with listening devices on roofs or looking out windows. Oh sure, they were trying to be inconspicuous. Darcy doubted anyone else in the city had noticed anything amiss besides a slight tension in the air and the worsening weather as her control slipped. But Darcy did and every time she turned she practically jumped out of her skin with fright. She kinda doesn’t want to attract the notice of scary government types okay? 

...She double barrels two more shots this time, smiling dopily as the alcohol causes her head to fuzz and her anxieties to fade. Darcy hears a creak as the door to the bar opens and closes, rain momentarily blowing into the space. A few seconds later a warm body slips into the seat next to her. 

Darcy turns her head and lets her eyes drift over the man beside her as he orders a beer. He has short, sandy blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He’s tall, and clearly athletic with a toned form. The blonde is wearing a black leather jacket, white T-shirt and tight jeans. Barely any fat on the bastard she grumbles. Plus, Darcy may be a dyke, but those biceps are fucking works of art. She’s queer, not fucking dead, okay. If college girls can have a drunken bi-curious experience now and again without changing their major identity so can she. 

...She’s stopped in her ogling when she notices that A.) He totally caught her staring and is smirking at her, the fucking cunt bastard, B.) He’s totally checking her out right back as his eyes linger on her breasts and C.) He’s packing heat in an underarm holster under his jacket, and has at least two knives that she can see. Clearly not a civilian then. Fucking great idea Darcy. Check out the jack booted thug sent here to interrogate you. Goddamn this week Darcy is not good decisions Darcy. 

...She blames the tequila. But hey? If she has more then she probably won’t care about giving agent biceps here whatever he clearly was ordered to obtain. Plus, liquid courage is still courage. 

She orders another tequila and slams it back too. The bartender shoots her a slightly concerned look before he shuffles away. Darcy ignores him, turning to agent biceps. 

“So, Mr. Alphabet, sup?” She drawls drunkenly in her most horrific southern accent.

Mr. arm day at the gym momentarily stills, shock etched into the lines of his face. He recovers so quickly that Darcy barely catches it. Still, that’s a bingo!

“I’m sorry, Mr alphabet? What’s that supposed to mean?” The man asks back passively. 

“Well, you’re with all the shady thugs keeping watch on the town right? Sup brosky? How’s it hanging hombre? How’re you doing filet-o-sexy? Who do you work for home-boy? CIA? NCIS? Baywatch? What do you want?” She queries with a giggle and an upraised brown. She’s really fucking drunk though, so it’s probably more of a snort and a set of crossed eyes than anything else. 

Mr. blonde and tasty chuckles darkly, taking a swig of his beer before responding. “You certainly are a perceptive little minx aren’t you?” He asks, giving her a more considering gaze. 

Darcy hums, letting the silence drag out. She’s not offering up anything if she can help it. 

The man stays silent for a minute, a considering frown on his face. He seems to be waring over some decision internally. He eventually nods. 

“Names Clint Barton. I’m with SHIELD. You probably haven’t heard of us, but we are with the government. The good guys who deal with the strange and weird cases no one else touches.” He supplies.

“Oh, SHIELD? Cat’s out of the bag blondie. Secrets been out for ages if you know where to look. Name’s Darcy. But you and your gang of fangirls already know that since you’ve been stalking us like we’re part of the backstreet boys.” Darcy smirks, delighting in the shocked expression on the agents face.

“Uhm...that is not at all the reaction I was expecting, and we will totally be talking about that.” He starts

“No we won’t biceps, but continue. What do you want?” She interjects, a grin on her face.

Clint laughs, rubbing his hands together like an excited child. “Oh, I like you. You’re sassy. Anyway short and curvy, we’re checking out some abnormal atmospheric readings in the area. You and your scientist bestie wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?” He asks neutrally.

Darcy laughs. “Of course loverboy. That’s Jane’s entire reason for being here no? Studying strange atmospheric disturbances for weird science! Reasons. I don’t think she really has any answers to how or why though. Not that I really understand any of what she does, so you should probably talk to her if anyone.” She says jokingly with a hint of self deprecation.

Clint eyes her. His stare oddly intense. Darcy has the sense of being picked apart, looking for something. He seems to find it, eventually nodding his head before letting a bit of a sigh escape him. She vaguely heard him mumble something about checking tomorrow before he turns to face her more seriously. 

“Well, thank you very much for your time Darce. Let me know if you think of anything else.” Clint says as he stands to walk out of the bar.

Rather than being smart Darcy though, drunk Darcy can’t fucking let it go at that. She practically salivates as she takes in the shapely form of his retreating ass.

“Hey, tall blonde and biceps. One last word.” She shouts, bringing him back around to sit down again. 

“Sooooooo, I may be totally misreading this. But I think I’m not Mr. I’m trying too project to hard that I’m always in control. So yeah. Want to come back to my place, maybe let me dress you up in my panties. Or maybe let me crush your balls with my feet?” Darcy says deadpanly. Clint chokes, coughing and spluttering as his face turns bright red. His fumbling knocks his half empty beer glass off the counter and into his lap. 

“Awww, pants, no.” He whines.

Darcy barks a laugh. “Well, I was kinda thinking of waiting till we left the bar, but you know, exhibitionism can be fun too.” The intern says with a smirk. And holy hell, blushing Clint Barton is fucking adorable. 

“Jesus, mary, you’re a blunt one aren’t you. Perceptive and blunt. Goddamn, it’s like having a drink with a bustier Tasha.” He grumbles, passing a hand through his hair to avoid looking at her directly. 

“I take it, that’s a yes then?” Darcy says with a shit eating grin.

“Fuck. I guess that’s a yes. Lead the way sugar tits.” Clint grumbles out. 

Darcy claps her hands excitedly and does a little happy dance before they leave. Well, more a drunken stumble, but you know, the thought counts for something.


	3. Silk and Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Darcy get crunked and make bad (but fun) decisions. Erik comes to town. Jane get excited. Everybody gets ready for a road trip.

*******************************  
Clint and Darcy stumbled their way into Darcy’s bedroom beside Jane’s lab late into the evening. More because of the smouldering glances between each other distracting them han because of the alcohol if Darcy is being at all honest. Agent biceps had barely had a beer (well, and a couple of shots as they were leaving), and hello, secret agent. If he couldn’t hold his liquor he was practically incapable at his job. Darcy on the other hand had always been a bit of a mini-hulk when it came to drinking. It took a lot to get her tipsy, and she always seemed to recover quickly. 

So, when they burst through the door and Clint pinned her up against the wall, she was more pleasantly tipsy than wasted. She grinned to herself, knowing that she would toooootally remember the smolderingly soft kiss he pressed to her lips. The way he seemed to melt like butter in her hands as she moved her lips down to nibble at the pulse point on his neck. The way he moaned loudly when her teeth sunk deeper, bruising the tender flesh. The electrifying feeling of want pulsing through her crotch. The urge to just shove the man up against a wall and BITE, bruise, make him squirm, make him squeal in pain and pleasure. 

...goddamn, now that she’s thinking about it, she really should have checked if Jane was on another science bender tonight or not. She’s 95% sure this is gonna get super loud because of all the pretty whimpers Clint’s making even as she just gently caresses the hard muscles of his back through his shirt. She might only be 50% sure Jane would actually notice even if they were having loud sex right behind her, but she’s 100% sure that’s unprofessional conduct. 

Drunk Darcy is not professional Darcy though. Those thoughts fly from her brain when Clint cups a hand over her neck, kissing her softly as he stares into her pale blue eyes. 

“So, what are we doin here babe? Playing Monopoly? Charades? Or...” Clint asks with a husky rumble. His eyes drop briefly to Darcy’s chest and she purrs at the fire that lights in his gaze. Slowly one of her hands reaches out, running gentle fingers down Clint’s inner thigh. She’s careful to keep it teasing, not to go too high. Clint groans and his head pillows into her neck either way though, the bulge in his jeans obvious.

“Well, I dunno agent. I was always more partial to dress up. I have a wonderful silk babydoll in my closet that you would look positively fetch in.” Darcy comments, her voice husky and practically wrecked. “What’s say we get you changed and then I have my vicked vay vith you?” Darcy asks, teasingly exaggerating a german accent towards the end. 

Clint’s eyes dilate, a low groan echoing from his lips. He licks his lips, a shakey smirk on his face. “And uh...what would that entail exactly?” The agent queries. 

Darcy hums for a second, considering. “Nothing much. I just...I really, really, really want to bite you. Like everywhere. Leave some hickeys and bruises. Maybe give you a blowjob, make you squeal like a little bitch. No reciprocation expected or really desired. I’m mostly a dyke to be honest.” She explains with a shrug. 

“I can work with that babe.” Clint says while giving her a big happy grin. Darcy growls as her hands ruck up his shirt, throwing it over his shoulders. Quickly his pants and boxers follow, leaving the man naked and very hard in front of her. His girthy cock is ruddy and throbbing gently in front of her. 

With a smirk, Darcy goes to rummage in her closet. In a few minutes she returns with a purple lacey garment that she drapes over his broad shoulders. It’s a little awkward, what with the shoulder size being a bit too large, and his muscular pecs not quite filling out the cups properly. Still though, the vision of his hard and (increasingly) dripping cock popping out of the purple silk folds draping over his abdomen is...panty floodingly hot.

...The adororkable as hell full body blush lighting up the super-secret-agent-spy-probably-a-fucking-assassins face helps that out quite a bit. Plus the giddy squeal of “Oh my god! It’s purple! I love it!” followed by a sheepish look of askance. 

(Not that Darcy finds embarrassing her partners hot at all. Noooope. Nope. Nata. Nyet. That would be fucked up. Which Darcy isn’t. Honest.)

Darcy surges forward, passionately kissing the man. Their tongues dart together excitedly as a pair of low moans echo through the space. The intern pushes him back, pressing a hand to his chest to knock him over onto the bed. He lithely catches himself, leaning back on his hands. Clint looks up at her with a...look on his face. Hesitant? Vulnerable? Turned on? Drunk Darcy isn’t always the best at reading facial expressions. 

“Uh, Darce? Feeling a little underdressed comparatively?” The spy asked, his lashes fluttering. 

Darcy let a cheshire grin split her face. “I kinda find it hot to fuck my partners into the ground when I’m fully clothed. That okay?” She asked. 

Clint whimpered and nodded enthusiastically, his gaze dropping submissively. Darcy giggled happily before dropping to her knees. Slowly she crawled till she was situated between his legs at the foot of his bed. A naughty grin lit up her face as she trailed her nails lightly over his calves up to his thighs. She delighted in the excited shiver than went through his body. 

Lust pooled in her gut as she leaned forward, her soft lips pressing against his inner thigh. A broken sigh escaped Clint lips as he moved a hand up to card through her hair. Darcy hummed happily, suckling a bit harder. Slowly, teasingly she pressed a series of soft kisses up and down each thigh. Clints legs trembled and she purred when his cock twitched.

The intern’s other hand snuck down, popping the button on her own jeans. She shimmied a bit, working the tight jeans down her thighs. Once she had just barely enough room she slipped her fingers into her panties. She circled her clit eagerly, building the hot coil of lust in her crotch up as she turned her attention back to Clint. 

The spy was looking down at her with a look of utter hunger on his face. It shifted slightly into a bit of an impatient pout as she paused momentarily. Darcy grinned mischievously before clamping her teeth down painfully onto his inner thigh. A restrained grunt was the only audible reaction, though his hand in her hair did clench enticingly.

...Not nearly enough of a bitch whine for Darcy’s tastes. That’s for sure. 

The intern steadily clamped her jaws down harder, and harder and harder. Her crotch throbbed as Clint’s grip on her hair got tighter. His breathing got harsher as he started to pant as she pressed on. The grunt got louder, longer as her teeth bore in. Already Darcy knew Clint would have a deep bruise the next day, even if he didn’t break quite yet. 

And when he did break, it was gloriously hot. A sudden surge in pressure caused him to yelp and tug her hair. Soft pained whimpering escaping his throat as Darcy growled into his leg. Clint’s entire body trembled, sweat glistening over his skin before Darcy let up and released her crushing bite. 

“Jesus fucking hell Darce! What the fuck are you, a fucking crocodile? Is that a full dental impression in my leg?! Holy shit, that’s a full dental impression in my leg.” Clint shouted. Sure enough, a very clear, very obvious circle of teeth marks showed imprinted in his already bruising skin. Darcy merely gave him a cheshire grin and poked it to hear his pained whimper. 

“Whaaaat? I said I would bite you. It just wouldn’t do to go soft on a big tough agent would it?” She cooed. “Besides, this little guy here seems to be a distinct fan. Does your opinion still line up with his?” Darcy said with a giggle, flicking his still very hard dripping member. She stared up to Clint, catching his big blue (now slightly glassy) eyes, daring him to look away. 

Clint looked away first, nodding the affirmative as the blush returned to his face. The intern giggled happily before clenching her jaw on his other thigh to create a matching bruise. This time the man was muuuuuch more vocal. Yelping and cussing her out (Cunt fucking bitch sadist slut! Goddamn, that fucking hurts you fucking harpy!) as her teeth dug into his flesh.

...It was hot. Very hot. Darcy may felt herself coasting to orgasm as she rode the sadistic adrenaline high. She had a bit of a thing for biting. Okay, a major thing. But whatevs. 

The brunette backed off slowly, her own lust drunk stare looking up to the silk clad spy in her bed. Noting the look of hunger and how his hands were practically vibrating to keep them away from his cock. Darcy grinned happily, giving her clit another stroke before she decided to take pity on the poor man. 

The woman leaned up, pressing a soft little kiss on the end of his cock. She licked up the dripping gob of precum from his tip, grinning as he groaned in pleasure. She opened her mouth and took just a bit of him into her mouth. Clint moaned and bucked his hips against her, pushing his cock into her throat.

...So she growled and dug the nails on her free hand viciously into one of the bite marks on his legs. “Down boy.” She said huskily as he yelped in pain and nodded. Slowly, teasingly she built him up. She ran her tongue up and down his cock, giving a few soft sucks here and there. Whenever he started panting too hard, when his cock started twitching threateningly she would scratch her nails up his shaft. Digging them into his scrotum, tugging and flicking his heaving balls. She purred happily at the soft moans and whimpers the agent couldn’t seem to hold back. 

“PleasePleasePlease Darce. Fucking goddamn bitch, I’m so close. Please! Can I come?” Clint eventually begged with a high pitched whine. Darcy smirked as the heat in her crotch was fanned. She sent him a sultry look from under her lashes, looking up to him as she brought her mouth off his cock. 

“Not yet.” She barked. Commandingly, a statement of final intention. The agent’s whine intensified and his legs trembled as he held himself back. Darcy pulled her focus off him, desperately playing with her clit, chasing the heat she needed. Leaning her head on his thigh she purred at his pained and desperate whine as he watched. Her breath came faster, more desperate as she panted for breath. Heat built in her as her desperate fingers twitched through her wet folds. 

Seconds later her vision is fuzzy as she lets out a high pitched cry. Her legs tremble and buck as she cums over her hand, a gush of hot cum staining her pants. On trembling shakey knees she lunges forward softly saying “Now you can” as she swallows Clint’s cock to the root. He curses in surprise, his hips shaking and trembling as searches for more sensation. Her head bobs up and down, fast as she can go.

Quickly Clint’s breathing hitches and his hands fist painfully in her hair. She growls happily around his cock and the vibration seems to be just enough to send him over the edge. He mewls happily as his entire body shakes. Hot, bitter liquid spurts over Darcy’s tongue and she swallows it all down greedily. 

The intern slurps around his cock, pumping her head back and forth, not giving the agent a second of a break. For a few seconds he moans appreciatively before he starts squirming and whining. “Fuck, goddamn, oversensitive!!! Oversensitive!!!” He shouts desperately. 

Darcy growls and stabs her thumb into the bite marks again. That shuts him up right quick as she continues to suckle and swirl her tongue around his tip. She doesn’t let up until he’s a mewling panting mess, whining and begging her. He’s not really coherent enough to make it an actual demand, so it’s kinda hard to tell if it’s to stop or to go faster. Either way, she likes it and is grinning like a sex drunk fool when she does eventually let off. 

“That was fucking awesome dude!” She shouts excitedly, raising a hand for a high five. 

He looks at her and rolls his eyes affectionately. “You, my tequila soaked bad decisions new friend, are a freaking dork.” He huffs before falling back, exhausted on the bed. “But yes, that was awesome. And fucking hot. Even if you’re a fucking goddamn harpy.” The spy grumbles.

Darcy laughs happily before throwing herself in the bed beside him, promptly passing the fuck out. 

**************************************  
Darcy wakes up late in the morning to excited shouting in the lab. She squints and clutches her aching head, slightly hung over. She notices a note beside her bed reading “Had to head into work. It was fun.” left on her bedside table along with a glass of water and some aspirin. The intern thanks all that is holy for sending her a considerate secret agent man and downs it all. Plus, the lingerie seems to have disappeared as well, so that’s fucking hot (what can she say, the image of Clint keeping a set of ladies silk underwear in the bag when he goes to meet with his badass secret agent buddies is fucking umph). 

20 minutes later a freshly showered but still groggy Darcy wanders into the lab, making grabby hands at the coffee maker as she walks over. She’s more or less tuning all outside stimuli out (because hey, no coffee) so she jumps in surprise and burns herself when Jane gets all up in her face with a piece of paper. Fucking science! Ninja. 

“Darcy! Who wrote this?! How did it get up on the server?!” She shouts excitedly. An older man is glowering over her shoulder. Well maybe not glowering, maybe more vibrating and shifting around excitedly with an intense look on his face. It’s Erik, she thinks (at least he looks like Erik based on his profile picture on the shared drive). It’s hard to tell since the whole, you know, no coffee yet thing. Darcy’s brain isn’t exactly running on all cylinders. 

Slowly the intern takes the paper from her boss, glancing over it. Her heart drops. It’s the string thingamawhatsits equations she accidentally uploaded the previous day. Fuck. Her. Life. 

“Jane, I’m so sorry. I can explain. You see, I just had some spare time here and there and the equations were just super finicky and cool and I was having so much fun playing with them and I lost track of time. I never meant to upload it. I’m so sorry if I wasted your time, it won’t happen again boss lady. It just…” Darcy trails off of her nervous spiel taking in the gobsmacked expression on Jane and Erik’s face. It looks a little like Jesus just rose from the dead in front of her and started playing a kazoo with his farts or something. Some combination of disbelief, giddy happiness and utter confusion. “Wait...why are you guys looking at me like that?” She asks nervously. 

“How did you come up with those assumptions anyways?” Jane asks in awe. 

“Uhhh, they just...seemed like they would help make the math work out? Not sure I really had a reason they...seemed reasonable?” Darcy explains hesitantly. 

“Darcy, do you have any idea of what you just did?” The man asks intensely, studying her closely.

“Uhmmm, no? I mean, the math just seemed cool? I honestly have no idea what string thingamawhatsits even is.” The intern responded, shuffling subtly to the door. Frankly the looks she’s getting from the scientists are getting a little creepy intense. She hopes she doesn’t have to jump town and leave because of one stupid mistake, but you know, never too careful. 

Jane turns a beaming smile on her. “Darce, you may have just proved key parts of string theory. Enough that we might actually be able to open wormholes wherever we want and prove my thesis right. Think about it, instant teleportation anywhere in the galaxy! We can’t be sure until we’ve gathered some more readings to test your assumptions. Which honestly is more a formality than anything else, they look solid. To be honest, even if they fail this is way beyond even PhD level work. Heck, if the measurements we take tonight pan out chances are we’ll all be getting the goddamn nobel prize!” Jane explains, practically yelling at her. 

Darcy raises her hands in surrender, trying to get the both of them to calm down. It doesn’t work. “Ooookay boss lady. Congratulations to you and Erik and in order I guess.” She says, taking a step away before her butt hits the counter behind her. 

“Congratulations are also in order to you Darcy. Congratulations, you are going to be a co-author on the nobel prize winning paper of the decade. Every university in the country is going to be lining up to give you graduate scholarships.” Erik stated intently. 

Darcy heaved in a sharp breath, panic flooding her system. Holy shit that’s a lot of exposure. Fuck, this is bad. A bad, bad idea she thought. When you’ve got a past as shady as she had, you try not to stand out much or that shit catches up to you. Darcy tried not to hyperventilate...she was not entirely successful, though she was able to avoid collapsing to the floor. 

Predictably Jane and her mentor didn’t notice her distress at all. Instead they spun away into a frenzy. They excitedly tittered about readings they needed to take, equipment they needed to pack and experiments they could run. Where the abnormal auroras would happen and how amazing this was all going to turn out. 

So it was that a nervous, twitchy, strung out and hung over Darcy was bundled into Jane’s science! Van that evening. Her taser and ipod were packed into her bag as she tried to control her freakout enough to avoid affecting the weather and thus the measurements. 

...And then shit got real weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, Thor is still going to exist in this story. Probably the next chapter is going to deal with most of the rest of the original Thor movie.


	4. Comes Great Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the first Thor.

*********************************  
Darcy doesn’t have very many memories of her family before the accident. She was young, barely 10, and the fire of her life had overshadowed much of that time. Even her Mama’s face has faded into mist with time. No photos were left behind. One thing that was always clear though were the rules. Important, unwavering vigilance was emphasised. A few days before the accident her Mama had sat her down for an important conversation. 

“Listen kotenok. My darling girl. I know it’s tough. I know you want to go out and play and be the big star but you must not. It’s not paranoia if there are actually bad men coming after you. And there are kotenok, there very much are. Keep your head down, don’t let anybody look to hard and they won’t find you. Look out for yourself before anything else, that’s the only way you stay safe.” She had said, tears in her eyes.

Darcy at the time had pouted, but didn’t fully grasp what she had been trying to say. Had consciously railed against her rules at the time and for most of her childhood. She’d spent years trying to get the attention she had been starving for as a child, a left behind orphan. Making a ruckus, causing noise, trying to outdo everyone in class. Getting noticed by Ivan, selling her toys. All of it was unproductive and childish...but she was a child, and she had needs. 

It wasn’t until she left New York that she saw the good sense in the rules. In scanning every room to see if someone dangerous was about. In questioning new friends carefully to see what their angle was. In making sure to stay behind the scenes, doing her job unnoticed and therefore safe. In never giving away too many details about herself and her past. 

After Ivan she truly realised deep in her bones just how dark other people could be. How easy it would be for her secret to get out. For her to be shunted off to some government lab. For anybody with a grudge to give her a pair of cement shoes and a swim. 

...She was scared.

So she became more careful. Changed her look up to be as inconspicuous and “normal” as possible. Learned basic self defense and learned to tase first and ask questions later. Learned to fade into the background of a conversation as much as possible. Learned to keep her temper in check and to hold back on ever using her powers. 

All this to say: When a drunk blonde dude who was twice her size fell from a portal in the sky she tased the fucker and dragged him to the hospital rather than exploding his dumb ass with a blast of thunder. 

When a magic immovable metal hammer fell from another portal, landing in the middle of Puente Antiguo and tearing up main street with a giant crater she held back. Opting to avoid trying (and failing) to pick it up like all the other yahoo broski’s. 

When intimidating jack booted thugs showed up stealing all their data and equipment she did nothing beyond snark a little at Agent Bland iPod thief (who steals an iPod? Seriously?). 

When Jane got in his face about her civil liberties being trampled she just stood cowed behind her boss and their mentor. “Dr. Foster, I’m sorry but we have reports you are messing with portal technology that poses a national security risk. Or did you not see the crater you left in the middle of town.” He had said. Darcy did nothing but sedately nod along as Jane shot back unsuccessfully “We did nothing but take measurements!! That wasn’t us!” (retroactively Darcy curses, realizing Clint must have left some bugs after he left the rat bastard).

The whirlwind of events swirled around her, rushing past her ability to process as she tries to avoid getting noticed in the crowd. The entire time however, her mind is spinning, conflicted. Long practiced instincts to be safe and avoid conflict are mixing and fighting with newer ideas. As the jack booted thugs are dragging her things away she keeps remembering the last impassioned lecture by Professor Miller. 

The black lesbian professor was an absolute and total badass and taught Darcy’s last gender studies elective before she came to New Mexico. As a teenager she’d been heavily involved in both the civil rights and queer rights movements. To this day she was still a spitfire, rabble rousing and pushing for equality for queer and trans teens. Darcy legit idolized her, and was always a little starstruck when she addressed Darcy by name. 

They’d finished all the course content, and were left with just a single day before the exam. As she did every year Prof. Miller used the last day to give her students a bit of a pep talk. Providing advice on how to move forward in life. 

“Now, I know you’ve all been a patient audience. And I thank you tremendously for that. Each year the students just seem to get brighter eyed and more bushy tailed. I just want to leave you with one last, serious note…” Professor Miller had paused, gathering her thoughts, looking around the room and catching the eyes of the closest students. 

“And it’s a simple truth. Choosing not to take any action is in and of itself it’s own action. You’ve spent months learning about unjust power structures, systems of intersectional oppression and different social movements. You have the tools and frameworks now to identify and analyze the problems you encounter in your own lives. It’s not your job to fix every little thing that’s wrong in the world. You can’t fight every battle, change every mind. There’s only so much time in the day and that wouldn’t be much of a life if all you do is fight. Smell the roses, listen to good music, take your lover to the movies, but always remember…” The woman had smiled sadly, her eyes a little glassy as she got a bit lost in the past. 

“Always remember...You’ll run into so many situations that are unjust. A woman will be paid less than or given less respect than a man with the same qualifications, a teen will be kicked out of their home for being gay, governments will stomp your civil liberties or whatever else new shit is happening in the world. In these situations choosing not to act, not to fight is offering your approval of the situation. It’s saying ‘Whatever is happening is not that bad. It’s not really a problem. It’s okay enough to stand.’” The woman paused, looking intense at her students, practically glaring, fire in her voice. 

“If it’s really important to you...you have to fight. Make a stink, get in people’s faces and push through the muck and mud slung at you. Because there will be mud. Conflict is not easy and never will be. That’s the point. By knowing what the problems are you have accepted the great responsibility of choosing what, if anything to do when that situation happens. Choose as wisely as you can.” She had said, letting her final statement echo with sombre finality as the class ended. 

...It’s with Miller’s final plea ringing in her ears, conflicting with her Mama’s warning that Darcy helps Thor access medical care with a fake ID. It’s with those words echoing in her ear that she tries to help Erik convince Agent Agent (does he even really have a first name, the filthy iPod thief) that Thor’s their colleague. It’s with those words echoing that they welcome the warriors three and Sif to Earth, trying to convince Thor to go home and talk it out with Loki.

It’s with those words echoing in her mind that she stares at a giant metal robotic monstrosity clanking down the road to New Mexico. 

The towering steel man looks quickly left and right, analyzing the town. It’s faceplate comes down, revealing a boiling surge of energy that shoots out in an explosive beam. Cars are crushed under its tread as it walks forward. Store fronts explode as the beam lances into them. 

Darcy hears Thor shout to help evacuate the town while the warriors three distract the destroyer. She jumps into action, running through the streets to shout the warning out to any who may have missed it. She helps pull an old lady out from under a collapsing sign. Eventually, there are no more people responding or screaming so she runs back to the main street, coming up behind the group of Jane and Thor. 

Sif, the absolute badass that she is has just leaped off a building and impaled the robot on her spear. It’s not enough though. The destroyer merely rips it out of it’s chest and backhands the woman over the street and through a goddamn wall. Darcy can’t help but wince for her. As badass as she seems, that has to fucking hurt. 

And ultimately, it’s with Professor Miller’s words in mind that Darcy’s breath catches when the destroyer tenses to fire another shot. It’s facing towards her, but not quite at her. The barest thought in her mind supplies that behind her is the pet store.

...And Darcy makes her split second decision to fight, to take the stage. If there is anything in this goddamn world worth fighting for, it’s not exploding puppies.

Darcy is moving before the bolt of energy even leaves the metal fucks face. She dimly hears Jane and Thor shouting her name before a wall of pressure, heat and pain slam into her chest. Her feet leave the ground and she’s flying through the air. Darcy slams through the window and drops against the wall behind it. Stunned, Darcy can do nothing but lay there for a few seconds, breathing in the scent of singed skin (her own, fucking gross) and burning wool. She groans in pain, trying to catch her breath. 

Eventually, she’s brought back to awareness by a scratchy wet sensation on her cheek. Her eyes snap open to an adorable tabby cat licking her cheek and meowing plaintively. Chuckling, Darcy gives it a quick pet as she drags herself to her feet.

Looking down at herself Darcy’s actually pleasantly surprised at how not dead and broken she is. Her shirt has been basically exploded, a single charred sleeve the only thing covering her torso. Her bra was vaporised as well, leaving ‘the girls’ hanging free. Luckily her pants are ripped but still mostly cover the fun bits. Rather than being a charred mess, where the beam hit flesh is only pink and a bit singed. Like a bad, peeling sunburn more than anything else. She wiggles her fingers and toes, pleased that everything is fully functional. 

The brunette’s attention snaps to focus again when she hears Jane plaintively wailing Thor’s name in the street. Before she can take a second to think it through she’s already moving. Her feet pound onto the pavement outside without a care for the broken glass or rubble scattered everywhere. 

Darcy sees the destroyer standing menacingly in the middle of town, shops burning all around it. The scene is cataclysmic as the warriors three limp away with Erik who’s yelling for Jane to follow. Thor lies broken and pleading in the middle of the street. The scientist ignores Erik’s pleading, hoving over the Asgardian with tears in her eyes. Briefly she’s thrown back as a lightning bolt strikes Thor, but Darcy breaths easier when she gets up a second later, apparently fine. 

The intern realizes nobody else is coming to help. The government spooks are running scared, the warriors three are overmatched, Jane can barely take care of herself and Thor is probably dead.

Darcy decides to fight with everything she has. The intern starts sprinting towards the robotic monstrosity who’s just standing there, looking proud as punch the smug bastard. Dimly she’s surprised as how fast her feet chew through the distance, each bouncing step moving her meters closer. Out of the corner of her eye she spies the spooky magic hammer that she figures started this whole thing. 

The destroyer spots her, (not that the comically flapping tits don’t draw the eye) and fires another blast at her. It glances off her shoulder and spins her around. Darcy crashes to the ground, landing next to that cursed fucking immovable hammer. The intern pulls herself up to her feet, using the handle as a lever, only to be surprised as hell when the fucker slides around under her grip, weighing practically nothing. 

The humming buzz of her power crackles over and around her skin, fire surging once more through her veins. There’s a harmonic whistling melody focusing it, channeling it in her ears. Starting, Darcy realizes the melody is coming from the hammer itself. She smiles a cheshire grin at the implications. 

...and leaps for all she’s worth at the destroyer. A burst of energy explodes under her feet, hurtling her 20 feet through the air straight at the bastard. Darcy gives a fierce angry yell as she flies (well, falls gracefully), dusty wind whipping up all around her as the sky darkens. The buzz in her skins reaches higher and higher. The burn intensifies painfully, grasping, desperate for release. She’s never been one for fine control, but the hammer seems to help. Darcy directs as much of the energy as possible into the hammer and the humming intensifies further. Barely restrained, just looking for a place to spark.

Darcy awkwardly raises the hammer over her head in a slow arching swing as she nears the cyborg. The monster blocks the swing easily with its arm, a barely caring, almost lazy defense. Only, the second the hammer contacts the metal of the destroyer all the built up energy practically bursts outward in cascading sparks. 

A wide blue cone of energy erupts from the hammers head, lancing towards and through the destroyer. A massive resounding boom is heard as the explosion pillows out, carving a charred black V a hundred meters long in the dirt behind the monster. Darcy grins as she watches, practically in slow motion as the destroyer’s torso rips apart into tiny shrapnel that’s flung across the desert. The blast is so clean it’s legs are still stuck to the ground, jagged edges showing where the explosion ripped the two pieces apart. 

Only, Darcy’s smirk turns into a surprised grimace as she curses that fucking bitch called fucking goddamn cuntwaffling physics. Equal and opposite motherfucking reaction her goddamn bitch ass. She realises she should have planted her feet to ground herself rather than striking while flying through the air like a derp. 

Darcy has a moment of weightlessness as she’s flung across and goddamn over the rest of Puente Antiguo like a golf ball. The townsfolk and secret agent suits under her hear an indignant cry of “Shiiiiiiiiit, physics you biiiiiiitch!!!” as she passes overhead. Her shoulders impact something hard and blackness blankets her as pain blooms over her head. 

*******************************

Darcy groans as she comes back to consciousness. Everything fucking hurts. Her arms, her back, her chest, her head all just reaaaaaally fucking hurt. Just, fuck. The world sucks sometimes for an intern. Her head is clear though, and the pain isn’t actually unmanageable though. She decides it’s probably just bad bruising rather than anything more troublesome.

Darcy glances around, realizing she’s in a sterile hospital room, hooked up to a truly excessive amount of monitoring equipment. Well fuck, she realises. Freedom, buh bye. It was nice while it lasted. Helllloooo painful existence as a lab rat. Yaaaaaaaaayy!! Best day ever!

The door opens with a creak. Agent Agent walks in with a truly stunning red headed woman at his side. Her lovely green eyes bore into Darcy, something dark haunting them. She gulps in fear...and arousal. Okay, fuck, the woman is seriously fucking scarerousing. Darcy would totally be down for a scene where she pees herself in fear for the woman’s pleasure. 

...okay maybe her brain is a little fuzzy. Maybe they did give her some of the good drugs after all.

Agent bland luckily chooses the moment to break the silence and save her from her swirling thoughts.

“Miss Daria Kravchenko. A pleasure to meet you. Or should I say Miss Darcy Lewis? Which is it these days?” The man asks stonily. 

And, holy fucking shit is that not good for Darcy. She has to take a series of long slow breaths to calm the raging panic in her veins. Darcy knew, just fucking knew this would happen if she ever showed her goddamn powers. She tries to focus on Professor Miller’s speech. Focus, fight, push through the mud and try to do better (it’s not entirely successful at slowing the pounding of her heart).

“I like to think Daria has been dead for awhile. She turned over a new leaf and has just been trying to help. It’s just Darcy now.” The intern says back lightly, even as her voice quavers. 

Something warm seems to pass through the eyes of the pair of government agents for a half second before it disappears behind the blank facade again. 

“Miss Lewis then. I’m here to make you an offer on behalf of SHIELD.” The balding agent stated. 

“Let me guess. It’ll be an offer I can’t refuse?” Darcy quirked, glorying at the slight quirk that elicits on the man’s face. 

“Oh, you can refuse it alright. But it’s the only way for Daria to fade away into obscurity. For the record to be swiped clean. Tell me Miss Lewis, what have you heard about the avengers initiative?” He asks curiously. 

Darcy stares at him for a second, studying him carefully. “Absolutely nothing, and I’m totally in as long as it doesn’t involve suppressing any small island nations. Or you know, murdering hundred of civilians, or anything else crazy fucking unethical y’all government spooks love to do.” The woman snaps back.

“Excellent and agreed. Agent Romanoff here will be debriefing on the destroyer situation and get you up to speed with the initiative.” The son of coul says, nodding as he spins to walk out of the room.

The door closes with a clank as Darcy turns to look at the woman she’s been left in the care of. Those pretty green eyes take on an look of even greater intensity as Agent Romanoff walks to loom over Darcy. 

“You fucked my partner.” The woman barks at Darcy, a bit of a sneer on her face.

Fuck. 

Fucking goddammit. Fucking drunk Darcy making good fucking decisions once again. 

“Sorry? He was hot?” Darcy says with a half hearted shrug.

Fuck.

Fucking goddammit. Pain med high Darcy making good fucking decisions once again. 

The woman, agent romanoff, looks stern for a second before a cheshire grin splits her face. 

“That he is. We’re poly, it’s fine. Clint’s been raving about it all week wanting to do it again. Want to tag team him together? You bite, I slap?” The spy asks with an amused hum. 

...and holy shit Darcy did not see that coming. And holy fuck does that sound like a good idea. 

“Fine, but on one condition. You can slap me as well. Or choke me with those goddamn works of art you call thighs.” Darcy drawls, eyes dropping shamelessly to take in the taller woman’s form. 

Romanoff eyes darken momentarily in lust. She snorts with amusement before uttering a single word and bouncing out of the room. Darcy gawks as her eyes trail the womans gorgeous fucking ass. 

“Agreed.” The spy says huskily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. I think I'm tentatively marking this work as finished. Don't get me wrong, there's way more to the story I had planned(Darcy training montage, Darcy fucks up the Chitauri, Darcy reconnects with Skye while cleaning up after london ect) and of course, many threesomes between Clint, Natasha and Darcy to jack off to. 
> 
> But...I just dunno. I'm not sure if I'm feeling the story quite as much as I was when I started. Gonna let this one lie for a bit and see how I feel and if I become more passionate about it. I write entirely for fun, so if the story isn't interesting to me anymore it's going to be forced. 
> 
> It's pretty likely that sometime soonish in the future I may start up a sequel work, or write an purely gratuitous sex scene epilogue though. Who knows.


End file.
